Serpent's Vengeance
by Dimos H
Summary: Five years after Voldemort's Fall, Harry and his friends continue to fight the Dark Side, and an old nemesis returns.


Serpent of Vengeance  
  
By Dimos H  
  
swordsagedimos@yahoo.com  
  
Rating: PG-13   
  
Summary: It is five years after the fall of Voldemort at the end of Harry's seventh year. In a world where dark wizards   
  
still plot his downfall, Harry and his friends confront an old threat in a new guise.   
  
Genre: Action, angsty, romance (HP/LL HG/RW and others)  
  
Disclaimer: I am nowhere near genius enough to have created Harry, his friends, and his world. All that credit goes to the   
  
wonderful J.K. Rowing. I get no money for this, so if you sue me, I'll be sure to spend what little I have ASAP.   
  
So there }:P  
  
Author's Notes: This is my first Fan-Fic in a looooooong time, so I would really appreciate any criticism or comments. =^)  
  
Author's Notes (from history class): The American Civil War began on April 12, 1861 with the attack on Ft. Sumter in South   
  
Carolina by Confederate forces under command of General Pierre Beauregard.  
  
~PROLOGUE~  
  
It was all that wretched Potter's fault. It was his fault that Draco Malfoy was where he was now, in Azkaban. Not as a   
  
prisoner, but the son of one. No, not even that anymore. News of his father's death had reached him that morining, and   
  
with minimal and overly formal sympathy, he had been told to come and collect his late father's personal affects. It had   
  
taken until the evening for him to collect himself before he could apparate to the wizard's prison. Arriving in the stark   
  
gray and cold entrance hall, he was greeted by a large and bored looking guard in the gray robes with the lock and wand   
  
insignia of Azkaban. Since the defection of the dementors, wizards had taken the job, and although trying to keep the   
  
place as grim as possible, it was vastly more cheerful without the ghastly guards.   
  
"You would be Malfoy, yes?" said the guard as he broke off into a deep yawn. "This way."The guard yawned lazily again as   
  
he led Malfoy into a door to the right of the main jail entrance.   
  
Malfoy gritted his teeth, the urge to hex the life out of the stupid guard raging inside of him.But he was far removed from   
  
the impatient and arrogant boy he had been in school. The hardships he had endured the last five years had steeled him,   
  
tempered his rage into cold calculation. He would not act without reason, without some way to gain. Even this place worked   
  
to temper his will into cold steel. His father had been locked in here for the past four years, ever since the fall of the   
  
Dark Lord. Draco's life had ended that day. His mother, heartbroken and humiliated, had taken ill and never recovered.   
  
She had been dead for three years now. The family fortune had been confiscated by the Ministry, his gold and house taken.   
  
He had been forced to feel the humiliation and indignity of poverty as he had struggled to live.   
  
His life had been stolen away from him by Potter and Dumbledore. At least Dumbledore was now dead, killed in the effort to   
  
protect Potter from the Dark Lord. But Potter, the filthy son of a mud-blood, had by some miracle managed to defeat the   
  
Dark Lord. Potter now lived in the lap of luxury, a star quidditch player for the London Lions, and the favorite to be   
  
seeker on this year's world cup team.   
  
  
  
Draco could not stand to know that Potter was even alive. The very fact ate at him, but still, he was patient. Draco knew  
  
in his soul that one day, he would make Potter pay.Today, however, he put his loathing to the side as the guard placed the   
  
box labeled "Malfoy" in front of him.   
  
Today, he let his grief fill him. Later, it would become fuel for his hatred.   
  
"Please sign here," said the guard wizard in his monotone nasaly voice, as he handed Draco a quill and pointed to a line at   
  
the bottom of the parchment roll on the table. Malfoy signed hastily, gathered the box, and stode out, his teeth gritted,   
  
his eyes burning as hot tears seemed to sizzle down his cheeks.  
  
*****  
  
His appartment in London, was small, but he had made it as comfortable as possible. The lights were dim, and the walls   
  
blank. No trace of Hogwarts could be seen. He had hated his former school ever since learning that the man he had idolized   
  
had been a filthy traitor. Severus Snape was another on Malfoy's list of those who would be punished.   
  
Draco crossed the small living area that joined to the kitchen without even lighting any lamps; he had almost no furnishings and besides, he knew exactly where everything was anyway. Arriving in his small bedroom, he set the box down on the bed and finally lit the candle on the bedside table. The dim light revealed the dust that covered the box of his father's possesions. At least,here was something that the foul Ministry could not take from him. Lifting the lid revealed a green shine that reflected the low light of the candle. Closer inspection revealed a necklace, a green serpent with ruby eyes on a silver chain.   
  
Strange, thought Draco. He did not remember ever seeing his father wear it.   
  
Next to it lay a thin and long piece of wood; a wand. Also peculiar, he wondered. He couldhave sworn that his father's wand had been broken during the final struggle against Dumbledore and Potter.Both lay on piles of clothes, the fine taylored robes and cloak of black that had always been his father's favorite. And the mask, the Death-Eater mask that he had seen only locked up securley in his father's safe in his study. Draco ran his pale fingers across the smooth black face of the mask. It was so cold, like death. It made him shiver in spite of himself. As much as he hated to admit it, Draco had always been terrified of the Dark Lord, and his father's involvement with him. Picking up the cold black mask, Draco looked into the mirror above his dresser. He looked into the cold eyes of the twenty-two year old face that stared back at him. His hair, nearly shoulder length and always slicked back, was the only pride allowed himself to show now. His heart beating maddly, he placed the mask over his own face. His eyes glared at him from behind the eyeholes, almost mocking him.   
  
Recoiling, he tore the mask off and hurled it into the far wall. Panting, he sat down on the bed and put his hands on his   
  
face, feeling cold sweat on his palms. Such horrible memories. When after a few moments his breathing had slowed to normal,   
  
he returned his attention to the box. The necklace caught his eye once again. The ruby eyes stared at him menacingly. A   
  
forked tongue flicked out of the serpent's mouth and back in and instant.   
  
Draco jumped back, his heart once again pounding. He must have just imagined it. He reached into the box and grasped the   
  
jewelry. To his surprise, it was warm to the touch. What was more, the warmth seemed to enter his hand from where his   
  
fingers touched it. The feeling grew into a heatas it traveled up his arm and into his shoulder. Unable to speak with   
  
horror, he tried to release his grip, but his hand refused his command. The terrible heat wormed its way into his chest, his abdomen his legs, and lastly up his neck into his head. He felt on fire, his whole body engulfed in agonizing heat. His vision turned scarlet, then black as he collapsed into unconsciousness.  
  
Draco found himself standing in  
  
darkness. He turned in all directions, frantically searching for something to help him gain a reference as to what was   
  
down or up. It was then that he looked toward his toes and saw his body own body. It was not really dark, but the whole   
  
world had been consumed by blackness, as if swallowed by some type of primordial beast.  
  
"Welcome, young Malfoy," hissed a cold high pitched voice. Draco turned to find himself staring into crimson, slit-pupiled eyes. It was the Dark Lord himself. "I have been waiting for you," hissed Voldemort. Draco was speechless, his scream caught between his lungs and his mouth. He could feel the terror oozing up around him like a slimy blanket. "There is no need to fear me," said Voldemort, a small laugh like the rattle of a snake escaping his mouth. "I am, for all practical purposes, dead."Strangley, Draco found this statement to be   
  
a relief.   
  
It had been mostly the shock of seeing the Dark Lord alive that had turned his blood to a river in the grip of  
  
winter. He nodded slowly, gaining his composure again. "Then," he started, pausing to clear his throat and steady his   
  
voice, "how is it that you are here now?"  
  
"Excellent," Voldemort said nodding. "You are not the coward I feared you may be. Since you seem interested, I shall get right to the point." He folded his arms and closed his eyes. "Death is the one enemy I have always hated more than anything, even more than Dumbledore or Potter. With my vast powers, I quested, more than anything else, for a way to defeat death. Doing such I even insured myself and survived my first encounter with Potter. After I had regained my body, I realized more fully even than before the fragility of life. My quest for power was a treacherous one, and I had many formidable enemies. So, the culmination of all my research into life and death led to the medallion you discovered among your father's possesions. Into it I wove a charm to ensure that my mind and part of my spirit would be preserved. It is now impossible for me to have a body of my own now, Potter has seen to that. But still, I may live on. I knew, Malfoy, that you would be the perfect body for my mind to inhabit."  
  
Draco felt no fear now, knowing that this Voldemort was nothing but a mental image, a collection of thoughts and will. "Do not think that you can simply take my body. I too am an enemy of death and I have no desire to meet it prematurely."  
  
"You misunderstand me," Voldemort hissed patiently, "I cannot take a body, not even someone else's. Only a tiny portion of my spirit remains. But my mind, my talent, and my memories are alive in here. And they are yours, if you will join with me."  
  
Draco raised his eyebrows in astonishment. The power of the Dark Lord was immense, even legendary. With such power...  
  
"I know," Voldemort pressed on, "how you hate Potter. Our hatred for him will unite us. Dumbledore is dead. With your body and my wit, there will be none who can stop us. We shall crush all who defy us, and together we will conquer death itself and rule forever."  
  
Draco closed his eyes. All of his hate, his torment, his humiliation burned inside of him and it writhed and raged. To crush potter, to avoid his parents' fate and never die. To have all the power he could ever want. Opening his eyes, he looked into the slits framed in red. "Yes, together we will be Lord Voldemort," he drawled extending his hand.  
  
The serpentine face of Voldemort twisted into a hideous smile. "Yes, my heir." He clasped Draco's outstretched hand.  
  
Draco opened his eyes to stare at his ceiling. The light of dawn crept across the floor. "A dream," he asked himself outloud as he got to his feet.  
  
"No," said Voldemort from inside his mind. "We are both real."  
  
Draco looked once again into the mirror and smiled. The serpent medallion hung around his neck. The tongue once again flicked out. Draco threw his head back and laughed. He laughed until he had no more breath and collapsed onto the bed.   
  
"What now," Draco asked Voldemort.  
  
"Now," Voldemort whispered to him, "we teach you."  
  
All at once, Draco's head filled with thousands of memories. Curses, charms, hexes, spells bombarded him mercilessly. He felt as if he were going mad. Almost as soon as it had begun, the floodgates stopped and the torrent died. But the memories were now his. "This is my gift to you," said Voldemort. "The wand in the box is my own. Take it." Malfoy complied. "Now, just knowing the spells is not enough,"continued Voldemort. "We must train you in their use." Draco nodded. "But not here. We must go somewhere else, somewhere isolated."  
  
Draco walked to the corner of the room and grasped the handle of his Nimbus 2001 broom. Flinging the window   
  
open, he jumped into the air and lifted off. Following the directions of the Dark Lord, he flew north, and after several   
  
hours, arrived at the northern shore of Scotland where an ancient castle seemed to wait for him. Touching down on the   
  
highest roof, Draco dismounted and threw the broom over his shoulder. As he strode into the gloom of the castle, the voice   
  
of Voldemort, now part of himself laughed in triumph. "At last, all will be mine!"  
  
~End of prologue~to be continued (obviously)  
  
Do you like it? Please review or email me. I love comments and even critisism. Naked pictures are even better!  
  
Thanks to J.K. Rowling, for creating Harry and getting me into the occult (j/k).And most especially to the Hypno-Toad for being such a great ruler (All hail the Hypno-Toad!!!)   
  
Dimos Hiahraki 


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